


a tangle of garland in your hair

by blackbird



Category: Velvet Goldmine
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 03:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2798018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackbird/pseuds/blackbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been more than ten years.  Maybe this time, they can get it right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a tangle of garland in your hair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mercury Starlight (WoolandWater)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoolandWater/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, Mercury Starlight! I tried to add in a few of your extra requests as well - hope you like it!
> 
> Many thanks to [Schuyler](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Schuyler/pseuds/Schuyler) and [sunfair](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sunfair/pseuds/sunfair) for the encouragement and the beta skills.

Arthur had gotten used to being alone. 

It had been hard the first year or two away from his family. He missed his mother's quiet voice, the way she always had the kettle on, no matter what time of day or night. Occasionally, he even missed the smell of his father's tobacco smoke. They were both still alive, still living in the house he grew up in, in a little town two hours north of London. He didn't speak to them, of course, but his cousin Amelia did. She was the one that lent him the money for his plane ticket to New York City.

"You could come home, Arthur. Surely you can afford it now," is what she'd said the last time he'd phoned her. 

He certainly could now. After Lou had rejected the initial story, Arthur continued the work on his own, running down leads. It wasn't until he went back to that dive bar and found Mandy working the crowd not unlike she'd done at the Commodore Club a lifetime ago.

Over a bottle of scotch, he told her everything. Buying the first Maxwell Demon record, watching Brian on television, seeing him and Curt in the paper, the disgust on his father's face. Mandy laughed at his story about meeting The Flaming Creatures, filled in some things that he didn't know about how Malcolm was so panicked at meeting Brian that he was sick in the toilets for hours before. 

"It's not that silly, you know," she said, lighting another cigarette. "We all wanted be with him, be a part of it all then. You're not the first."

Arthur tipped back his glass, rolling the scotch around before swallowing. "I'm sure I'm not." He looked down at scarred table top. "The thing is, people deserve the truth. Not just people like me, but you, and Cecil, and even Curt."

"Might be best to leave Curt out of this. Your last meeting rattled him enough to send him back to Berlin. Sobriety is a terribly complicated dance, darling." Exhaling, she gave him a sharp, calculating look. "What the hell? I didn't haul all that shit back here from London for nothing." She dug a pen out of her purse and scribbled on a napkin. "Come by the day after tomorrow, in the afternoon. I'll let you root through my private life."

"Cheers," he said with a grin, splitting the last of the scotch between their glasses.

*

Six months later, Arthur was sitting in that same dive bar waiting on Mandy to meet him. Working with her on the article, he'd seen a whole different side of her. Arthur used to be so jealous of her, right in the middle of everything he'd ever wanted, Brian's arm around her waist. But just like all the rest of them, she was playacting. The indulgent, silly wife of a dilettante rock star on the outside, but a more careful and cunning woman than anyone gave her credit for underneath. If it hadn't been for her, Brian Slade wouldn't have had the money to quietly disappear back to Birmingham and live under his real name for the seven years between his spectacular fall and the first time a Tommy Stone song appeared on the British pop charts.

But beyond all that, they'd managed to become friends. Arthur hadn't had a proper friend, not one that he trusted, since before he left home. At the very least, it meant he'd have someone to celebrate with who weren't his coworkers at the Herald. 

The article was being published tomorrow. And not just published, but it was the cover story on _Rolling Stone_. He'd just come from their offices and there was an advanced copy in his bag. The glossy cover image was a split shot - Brian Slade on the left and Tommy Stone on the right. Side by side, Arthur was still surprised at how alike they really did look. 

Flipping through to the article, Arthur stared at the byline. It hardly seemed real, but there it was. And the money was in his bank account. More than enough to keep him in decent scotch, if nothing else.

The vinyl on the barstool next to him crackled. 

"I didn't remember you."

Arthur turned and saw Curt Wild sitting there. The band onstage was still setting up, checking amps and tuning guitars. He blinked just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

"Sorry?"

Curt shifted, nodding to the bartender. "Can I get a beer and another for my friend too, thanks." He looked back at Arthur. "When you found me in the bar, I thought that I knew your face, but I couldn't figure out where from."

"And you've sorted it out now then?"

Because he was nothing if not a glutton for punishment, Arthur had gone over that night a hundred times in his head - things he should have said, things he should have done. It had been a fitting bookend to the night on the roof. Or so he thought.

"That's - that's not right, not exactly," Curt said, staring down at his hands. He still had guitar calluses, but only his thumbnails were painted black now. "I remembered that I knew you, but I didn't know how. And then you called, asking about…" He waved his hand at the magazine. "It's not exactly a subject I like to talk about, you know?"

Arthur nodded. "All things considered, I would have been a bit put off too." 

The bartender set two beers in front of them and Curt handed over some money. There was a tattoo on his wrist that Arthur didn't recognize. Not that he expected to. Ten years was a fucking lifetime.

"Your favorite color, you said it was aquamarine. Which seemed like bullshit because who likes the color of water," Curt said, scraping at the edge of the label. "I remembered your mouth, you saying that word over and over again until I…"

They'd been lying there, looking up at the stars. Curt's breath was hot and sour against his cheek, but Arthur didn't notice it then. All he could think about was the weight of Curt's body against his, the thin scar on his shoulder that he suddenly wanted to taste. The edges of his vision had been hazy, he couldn't decide if this was a dream or not. Arthur didn't care. 

"What you said the last time we met, about you and Brian only changing yourselves - it's not true. Maybe you can't see it or you don't know how to." 

Grabbing his coat, he got up and left the bar. Instead of getting on the subway, he walked the fifty-something blocks south to his apartment. The radiators were hissing and the hall smelled like the thick, oniony soup his neighbor across the hall made at least three times a week. His hands were shaking as he hit the PLAY button on his machine.

"Arthur, darling, something's come up, so I may not make to the bar tonight. But I'll look for us on the newsstands tomorrow and I'll see you this weekend." Mandy's voice trilled out of the speaker. It took some restraint not to smash his fist into it.

He was fine. He was about to be published in a national magazine. He'd finally found a story he wanted to tell and he'd gone after it, damn the consequences.

It wasn't until he was in bed, that fucking emerald pin catching the light from between the blinds, that he realized he'd left his advanced copy sitting on the bar.

It didn't matter. He'd get another one tomorrow.

*

There was someone knocking - no, pounding - on his door. Arthur pulled off the headphones and stopped the tape he was transcribing. 

"Just a fucking second," he yelled as he flipped the deadbolts back. He didn't take the chain off and angled himself partly behind the door. Better to be safe. "What?"

Curt was standing in his hallway.

"Hey," he said, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "You gonna let me in?"

Arthur pulled off the chain and stepped back so Curt could come inside. 

"How did you figure out where I lived?"

Curt smiled shyly. "Mandy. I told her I wanted to talk to you, but she said you didn't have a phone, so…"

"I do have a phone, actually," Arthur said. He was entirely off balance. After that night in the bar, he never expected to see Curt again, but he wasn't surprised that Mandy had interfered. "Did you want to sit down or…"

"Your favorite color was aquamarine, you let me shotgun you from the joint I had in my pocket, you have a birthmark on your left hip, you knew all the words to "Pinball Wizard," and you kissed like no one had ever kissed you before. I used to think it was all a dream or that maybe my head was mixing up things again. You were asleep when I went inside to look for Jack and by the time I came back, you were gone."

Arthur swallowed hard. That was the most he'd heard Curt say since that night, every word lodging sharply into his chest. There were other things too - the way Curt had curled around, mouth hot on the back of Arthur's neck as he pushed inside him, how his eyes lit up when Arthur had made him laugh.

"I waited up there until it was starting to get dark again," Arthur said softly. "I didn't - I thought you'd sneaked away so you didn't have to, I don't know what."

Curt took a step closer. "Back then, when I wasn't using the methadone, there was coke, pills. I lost track of time a lot. I never meant for - I was coming back for you, to see if you wanted to come to Berlin with Jack and me."

"You - you didn't even know me," Arthur stuttered out. 

Suddenly, Curt was very, very close. He smelled like cold air and cigarettes. His hand came up and cupped Arthur's jaw. "I wanted to. I still want to, if you…"

"Yes," he exhaled, "yes."

Curt kissed him and it wasn't the same kind of kiss as the ones they'd shared that night on the roof. These were slower, carefully measured to keep Arthur in this moment, with this version of Curt, who was sober and trembling a little.

"I would've gone to Berlin," Arthur said when they broke away to catch their breath. "I would gone anywhere you'd asked me to then."

"And now?"

"I can't speak German," Arthur replied. 

Curt smiled and pressed their foreheads. "I don't think Jack's up for me visiting again for awhile anyhow."

"C'mon," Arthur said, taking Curt's hand and leading him back toward the bedroom. "Don’t be frightened. What’s your name? Your favourite colour? Song. Movie. Don’t be nervous."

Curt laughed again and for the first time in ten years, Arthur felt free.


End file.
